10 || time

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Dear Ladybug,

I'm dying.

I don't know what to do. Everything is wrong and I'm dying.

What am I going to do?

My mother has been crying for the past hour, the doctors have a look of pity sewn into their irises, and my father hasn't even spoken a word.

I'm tearing this family apart.

My genes are bad. My time is up.

Always,
Marinette.

Adrien saw the remnants of her tears on the page. They created an abstract of ink splotches and smeared handwriting. He traced her signature once before closing the book.

It was early in the morning. So early that the sun hadn't risen. Adrien couldn't sleep. He knew his makeup artist would complain when he finally went to his photoshoot. "Dark circles and even darker eyes," she had said. He didn't care enough to try to fix either.

He blinked away the sleepiness. His bouts of insomnia had started to become more frequent. His body ached with what he called phantom pains. He knew there was no cause to them but he still hurt. His pain was mostly trying to find an outlet and it chose his body. His horrible diet probably didn't help. Adrien knew he was lacking some important vitamins. He told himself that he would go to the store the next day.

He had nothing to do. His blank diary untouched by ink stared back at him so Adrien did the only thing he could think of. He wrote about his phantom pains and what it was like losing Marinette.

Adrien wrote what it was like to lose a girl he loved.

Always, Marinette • adrienette auWhere stories live. Discover now